Music of the Night
by teen-book-queen
Summary: When Scott's cousin, a pretty, young French girl, moves to Beacon Hills, she's not exactly expecting to land in the middle of a supernatural adventure, and she definitely isn't looking for romance. But what's a girl to do in a town where werewolves roam free and annoyingly attractive teenage boys aren't exactly hard to find? Jackson/OC
1. Character Information

Hi everybody! First fanfic, so please be nice. Also, I am pretty new to the Teen Wolf fandom, but I love it! If you read, please review and I'm not sure how frequent my updates are going to be, so please bear with me! Thank you so much and this is just a list of character stuff! Enjoy!

**Josephine Leroux:** More commonly known as Jo, this young 16 year old beauty is the cousin of none other than Scott McCall! She attended a fancy school in France dedicated to the arts from grades six to nine. When she moves to Beacon Hills to live with her aunt and Scott after the traumatic death of her mom, this artistic young girl is not expecting to get mixed up in a supernatural adventure, but hey, what's a girl to do? Especially when Beacon Hills very own super jock, the one, the only, Jackson Whittemore, starts developing feelings that she returns. Keep reading to find out! Studies: music-voice and piano, dance-pretty much everything, art-painting mostly Model: Vanessa Hudgens

**Charles Leroux: **Josephine's father and Scott's uncle, this weapon making French millionaire is the designer for Frances high grade weaponry. Model: Patrick Dempsey

**Stella Wu: ** One of Jo's best friends from school in France. Her family is from England and so her accent is, you guessed it, English! She's fun and spunky and doesn't take anyone's unneeded BS. Studies: film, music-piano and dance-jazz, modern, contemporary, lyrical Model: Jamie Chung

**Courtney West: **Yet another of Jo's besties, Courtney is slightly shyer and a little less insane then Stella. However, when it comes to her friend's happiness, she'll do anything to make sure it stays intact. Her and Jo met when they were very young and then went to the academy together, which is where they met Stella. Studies: art-photography and graphic design, music-cello and drama-acting Model: Jennifer Stone

**Actual TV Show Characters**

Scott McCall-Tyler Posey

Allison Argent-Crystal Reed

Stiles Stilinski-Dylan O'Brien

Jackson Whittemore-Colton Haynes

Lydia Martin-Holland Roden

Derek Hale-Tyler Hoechlin


	2. Chapter One

**ONE**

Well, here I am. Beacon Hills, California. It is nothing like France, I can tell you that. You know why? I know my way around France. However, in California, I am totally lost. My aunt and cousin told me to meet them at this coffee shop called Alternative Fuel at 12:30 in the afternoon on August 15; the day my flight gets in.

They aren't here.

So, here I am, sitting at a small table with my art pad, iPod and earphones, an acoustic guitar and an old, dark leather shoulder bag with no clue how to get where I'm meant to go. There's charcoal all over my hands, because I draw messy when I'm nervous. They are fifteen minutes late, and I'm starting to freak out. Someone set a cup of coffee down in front of me. Looking up, I saw a boy about my age, maybe a bit older. He had light brown hair and green-blue eyes that I would love to draw. He stood at maybe 5'8 or 5'9 and was obviously and athlete.

"What's this?" I asked.

I could tell that my light French accent surprised him. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

"You look a little lost," he recovered quickly. "Thought this might help."

Quirking an eyebrow, I gave a small smile. I pointed to the seat across from me; an invitation that he took.

"So, who are you?" he asked.

"Josephine Leroux," I told him. "But most people call me Jo."

"Well Jo, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jackson," he introduced.

I gave a small 'hm' and took a sip of the drink he'd brought me. It was very good. A little bit spicy, but still very sweet.

"What is this?" I asked him, pointing at the drink.

He scratched behind his neck.

"It's a chai latte," Jackson told me. "My, um, _friend _likes them."

Nodding, I got the impression he didn't want to talk about it. I also had a feeling that this 'friend' of his was an ex-girlfriend.

Coughing, Jackson asked, "So, what brings you to Beacon Hills?"

Well, that's awkward. "My dad sent me here after my mom passed."

Wait, why did I tell him that?

Jackson's face flashed with sympathy.

"I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't have asked."

Shaking my head, I said, "It's okay. I told you."

Relaxing, he nodded. "Where'd you move from?"

"What is this," I giggled. "Twenty questions?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he nodded, matter of factly.

Oh my good Lord, his smile is just too perfect. Honestly, he must've hit the genetic lottery.

"France," I told him.

"Why'd you live in France?"

"My mom is, well, _was, _American. She fell in love with a French millionaire, and he did the same with her. When they married, they decided to move permanently to Paris, instead of splitting time between France and here," I explained.

My phone beeped. Looking at the text, I sighed in aggravation.

"What's wrong?" Jackson questioned.

"My cousin was supposed to pick me up, but he _forgot_, so now I am stranded," I mumbled, my face buried in my hands.

"I could give you a ride, if you want," he offered.

"Oh, no! I couldn't let you do that!" I jumped in. "Especially not after the coffee and everything."

He stood up, grabbing my guitar along the way. "I insist."

I grinned. Now came the difficult, not to mention embarrassing, part; trying to stand up without too much pain. Bracing my arms on the table and back of the chair, I pushed myself up, grimaced and stumbled forwards.

"Whoa," Jackson threw his arms out to steady me. "You okay?"

"I'll live," I told him, stooping to pick up my bag.

He shot me a look that clearly said 'If you say so' and walked out the door, me trailing behind.

"So, who's your cousin?" Jackson asked from the driver's seat of his Porsche.

Seriously. He drove a freaking _Porsche_. What else was there to learn about this guy?

"Scott McCall," I told him.

"Are you serious?" he chocked.

Shooting him a look, I asked what the problem was.

"McCall and I may or may not hate each other," he stated.

"Brilliant," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, it's nothing personal," he said to me. "We've just never really gotten along."

"Alright," I shrugged, a little skeptically.

We pulled up in front of Scott's house a couple minutes later. Before I got out of the car, I thanked him. He grabbed my wrist and wrote his number on the back of my hand.

"You'll be needing a tour guide," he smirked, before pulling away from the curb.

Knocking on the door of the McCall house, I realized no one was home. Sighing, I opened the front door, as it was unlocked. Stepping in, I saw random pink post-it notes on the floor, with arrows drawn on them. They lead around the corner to a bedroom on the first floor. It was perfect. All the things that I needed were there; my easel and paints, music books, art supplies…Everything.

I think I'm finally home.


End file.
